Letter to Fate
by iwriterandomthings
Summary: Marissa is a young girl trapped in life. One day she decides to write a letter to the most famous singer alive. To her astonishment, they strike up as friendship as penpals. Michael Jackson Thriller Era onward.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

A girl sits in her room in the dark, alone. A single tear streams over her fine cheekbones. Her drunkard father is passed out downstairs, a bottle of alcohol still clutched in his hand. She tries to keep silent so she won't awaken the beast and then he'll have no reason to beat the life out of her. She takes out an old, ratty notebook and by a shaft of moonlight through her window, composes a letter to the only person she can think of.

Dear Michael,

I know we've never crossed paths and you have no idea who I am but, my name is Marissa. You can call me Mar for short. Um… what should I say about myself? I'm 15; I was adopted when I was three. My mom left when I was six, I haven't heard a word from her since that day. I love to write, almost more than breathing. Ever since I can remember I wanted to be an author. I want it so bad I can taste it, but I know there's not exactly a high demand out there for 15 year old who can out write most adults.

Another thing, I love your music, (as I suppose all your fans do) what little I get to listen to anyway. I can't let my father know that though. He has something against you for wearing eyeliner, I happen to think it makes your eyes pop. The last time I heard your songs, I was dancing to it (I'm not very good, haha.) My dad found me in the middle of it and proceeded to smash a beer bottle over my head. That doesn't make me love your music any less though.

Anyway, enough talking about my life, I just wanted to say, I don't have much to call my own so if you could write back, it would make me the happiest girl in the world, no lie. I'm probably wasting your time with all this, sorry.

All my love,

Marissa Larman

Michael is surrounded. He hates that he is forced to go to these stupid parties. He's withering beneath his heavy sequin jacket. Dignitaries and celebrities approach him in awe, like a caged animal ready to pounce. The only start talking about how much they love Thriller, or how they want to learn the moonwalk… all their speech blurs together after awhile until he just starts ignoring it all together. He just stands there like a bobble head, nodding yes whenever someone says something.

He tries to seek out an escape route but at every turn, another person runs up to him. He's frustrated but tries not to let it show, not that anyone can see pat his aviators anyway. He restlessly sways side to side, hoping that people will get the point that he doesn't want to chat. Finally, he makes a break for it. He walks briskly towards the first door he sees, the kitchen employees' lounge. Thankfully, it's the one place at the celebration that's completely secluded. He calls for his car and slips away unnoticed.

She seals the envelope and digs up an old stamp. From the books she's read she knows his address by heart, she scribbles both his and her address on the back of the slightly yellowed envelope. She slips it under her pillow for safekeeping until dawn. She rests her head, feeling the edge of the paper with her thumb until she finally drifts off.

She gets up early the next morning, just after sunrise. As usual her father has disappeared back to the bar and she's left to clean up the remains of his drunken rampage. She scrubs the dishes, sweeps the broken glass from the floor and mops out the spilt beer and urine in the bathroom. She neatens up as much as possible before she runs out the door.

The letter is held tightly in her pocket as she walks. She starts to wonder is she's a fool for writing and ever expecting a response. He gets truckloads of fan mail per day, what make her any more special than the rest of them? She pauses just before dropping the letter in, should she or shouldn't she. Just then some freshman with in need of an attitude adjustment decides to shove her face first into the mailbox.

"LOSER!" he taunts while walking away with his little cronies. She seethes with rage as she reaches up to feel a large bump welling up on her forehead just above her hairline, thankfully no blood is pouring out. She takes a deep, calming breath and drops the letter in the box before continuing to school.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

Two months later…

Michael is pawing through a pile of fan mail when he comes across a letter and decides to open it. He read the tiny girlish script written by Marissa. Her story makes him upset, he knows first-hand how brutal abuse from your father can be. He takes out a pad of his stationary and a random pen and starts writing back to her.

Dear Marissa,

I'm sorry to hear that your dad is so mean to you. I know exactly how you feel, all too well actually. Just promise me one thing; no matter what you do, never stop trying, never stop working, and never stoop to his level. Most important, don't ever, ever let anyone tell you dreams aren't worth it. You never know where you'll end up.

I hope you do alright for yourself and if you ever want to write back to tell me how you're doing, don't hesitate. Just send it to my personal address so it won't get lost in the piles of fan-mail, it's on the back of the envelope.

Best wishes and I look forward to hearing from you!

Michael Jackson

About a week later…

Marissa thrums through the mail as she walks to the door. Bill, bill, bill, eviction notice, credit card application… the last letter in the stack, the one she had been waiting for all this time. She jumps up and down, squealing with excitement. She tosses the rest of the mail on the kitchen counter and sprints to her room at full speed. She tears carefully into the envelope and unfolds the paper inside. She struggles to make out his sloppy almost child-like handwriting. There's a huge smile on her face the entire time she reads. She can't believe her luck! Out of all those fans, all that mail, she was lucky enough to get a response from the man himself! She carefully tucks the letter back in the envelope and stashes it in the bottom of her sock drawer. She starts drafting a new letter almost immediately.

Dear Michael,

I got your letter today. Thank you so, so much for writing back. You have no idea how much it means to me. I can't believe a celebrity as busy as you actually has time for fan-mail. You must have a crazy pile going by now!

So tell me about your dad since I told you about mine. I'm not trying to pry or anything, just curious. I won't tell anyone I swear. I suppose you don't have to if you don't want to. Also, how is Neverland coming along? I heard something about it on the radio the other day.

Hope you are doing well, I'm still holding in there for now.

Love you!

Marissa

About a week later, Tuesday…

Michael has just finished a stressful day of negotiations. He record company and his brothers are begging him to go on another tour. He doesn't want to let them down but he doesn't want to spend another year cooped up on the road with them either. He is moving on with his career and had his own vision to pursue. He's literally stuck in the middle with no way out. His maid hands him his mail for the day and he goes to his room, the door auto-locking behind him. He flops down on the bed, taking a few deep breaths to try and center himself. He spreads the mail out before him and picks out the letter from Marissa right away, leaving the rest of the mail neglected. He reads over the correspondence and ponders her question before digging out some paper to answer her back.

Dear Marissa,

I'm glad to hear you're doing alright. To answer your questions, Neverland is coming along great. I'll have to send you some pictures soon. I have a zoo now, and they put my Ferris wheel in last Tuesday, I'm so excited!

To answer your other question, um I'm not quite sure how to say this but he beat us. A lot. We didn't want to practice? That's a whoopin'. Miss a step? Get a switch. Tired of singing? You're behind gets torn up with a belt. We all felt more like slaves than stage performers. I usually got the short straw when it came to doling out the beatings because I was the only one that would even dare to cross him. I don't like to talk about it much. It brings up too many painful memories and then they keep me up all night.

Also, don't worry about prying, I know you're in the same situation. I know you understand and I trust you. Just remember, don't let anyone tell you you're less than you are, your father included. If I didn't learn that I don't think I'd be where I am today. You are the only one to make your fate.

On another topic: how's school goin'?

I love you more!

Michael Jackson

Later that night…

Marissa's father busts into her room, breaking to door off the hinges. He reeks of beer, vomit and ladies' perfume. He trips on a lamp cord and sends it smashing to the floor and himself stumbling across the small space. Marissa tries to shrink down under the covers. Her father rips them away and in his drunken stupor, slugs her in the face, hard. Blood and tears flow readily.

"You little ungrateful brat!" seems to be a favorite phrase among his incoherent swears. When he tires himself out he wanders from the room.

She grabs a dirty t-shirt and wipes the blood from her face and hands. Fresh bruises are forming on her arms, face and stomach. She takes slow, even breaths to try and ease the pain. She never gets used to this. She attempts sleep but every time her eyes close she relives every blow of the beating. Finally, she just gives up on sleep altogether, instead staring at the ceiling. When morning sunlight peeks through her window, she slinks out of bed and gets ready for school. As she applies makeup to cover the bruises, her mind wanders. She wonders if Michael ever spend s nights like this.

That Friday…

Mar gets the letter. She has to wait until her father is out of sight to be able to open it. This week has been particularly brutal on her. A letter is the perfect medicine right now. She waits impatiently for her father to pass out on the couch before sneaking off to open up the note.

She feels a pang of guilt as she reads about his father. It makes her a little happier though to know that someone has been through what she has and come out the other side better for it. She gets some paper and begins another letter.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

Dear Michael,

A Ferris wheel? I can't imagine having one of those in my back yard! You're so lucky it must be tons of fun at your house. Do you have any other rides or just the Ferris wheel?

As far as your father, I can't imagine being in your place in that situation, I can't dance to save my life. My dancing is more of an awkward flail than an actual dance. Hah. I know what you mean with the belts and switches and stuff, it really bites.

School? It's just another hell hole. We're underfunded and there are never even enough desks in each class room. If you're even a second late chances are you'll have to sit on the floor. Half the time the teachers are glorified babysitters just trying to keep everyone from killing each other. I just hide in the back of the room to avoid getting beaten to a pulp. I get enough of that at home.

I have to wrap this up. Father just stomped in from the bar and he's gonna be angry if I don't get down there right away.

I love you infinity!

Marissa

She quickly and messily folds the letter and stuffs it into an envelope, sticks on a stamp and scribbles on the address before stashing it and scurrying downstairs, cramming the whole thing in her pocket. Her father is passed out cold in the middle of the kitchen floor. There is broken glass from a dropped beer bottle scattered around him. She quietly stepped around him, sweeping up the shards and tossing them in the trash can. She freezes in place when he stirs; he only flops over to his other side and is out like a light again in seconds.

Chapter 3

The next morning calmly walks up to the blue maibox, double checking to make sure no one was hiding in the shadows. She kisses the envelope and drops it in the box. These letters are the only thing that gives her hope nowadays. She keeps her head low as she shuffles into the school building. People are pushing kids across the hall, paper airplanes and spitballs are flying. She quickly dials in the combo for her locker and dumps her books in, grabbing her books for her first 3 classes.

A shiver runs down her spine when she feels an icy hand on her shoulder. She turns around to an oversized sophomore who looks like he's been held back more than once. He has bright orange hair and freckles and wears a creepy smirk on his face. He knocks her books to the floor and grumbles out, "Gimme your lunch money."

"I don't have any." Mar says meekly, holding out her empty hands.

"Yeah right dweeb. Fork it over." He makes a 'gimme' gesture and starts backing her into the lockers.

"I told you. I don't have any." Her voice wobbles with fear as her back touches the lockers.

He makes a grab for her knees and flips her upside down and tries to shake any money out of her pockets. Mar tries to kick and scream to get him to loosen his grip.

"PUT ME DOWN YOU OVERSIZED BUFFOON!" She swings with her arms now, but can't manage even a glancing blow. Once he sees that she really has no money he drops her to the ground. She hits with a loud 'oof!'

"Whatever, freak." He tosses over his shoulder as he walks away.

Mar nurses her now bruised shoulder as she collects her books and papers. Some of the people around her snicker, but not one them even offers to help, as per usual. The bell rings and the hallways clear. "SHIT!" she yells in her head, collects herself and makes a mad dash for her class. She walks in a full minute late, awkward silence drapes the room. She feels all eyes on her as she takes her seat.

"Miss Larman, do you have a pass." The teacher asks, glaring angrily at her for the interruption.

"No, ma'am. I'm sorry." Some of the other students giggle under their breath at her as the teacher starts writing the day's lesson on the board.

When the bell rings everyone hops up. "Miss Larman, I'd like to speak with you please." Some of the other kids make 'ooooo' noises as they run out the door. Mar swallows the lump in her throat and walks up to the teacher.

"Miss Larman, you are aware this is your fourth tardy this month?" she scolds while erasing the chalkboard.

"Yes ma'am." Mar casts her gaze downward.

"Is there a problem I need to know about? A reason you can't get to class on time?"

"No ma'am." Mar says quietly.

"Are you sure?" The instructor raises an eyebrow.

"I'm sure."

"Alright then, hurry up and don't be late to your next class." Mar nods and runs from the room. Luckily her next class isn't too far away and she manages to make it on time.

_Meanwhile…_

Michael sits at a big conference table with his dad, brothers, the record company executive and Frank. Frank Dileo sits to his right and all his brothers to the left. All eyes are on him as a contract is placed in front of him. They all know this all pends on Mike, without him there is no Jacksons, and no Jacksons means no show. Mike is reluctant. He really doesn't want to go through this again.

"I really don't want to do this." Mike sighs as he sets the pen on the table.

"Come on Mikey!" Jackie pleads, "won't it be nice to be all together on stage again?"

"You know I hate touring." Michael shakes his head 'no', still not convinced.

"We all need the money." Randy chimes in. "Well maybe not you, but come on. Think of the rest of your brothers."

Michael takes a deep breath and exhales loudly, "Fine I'll do it." Everyone around the table cheers with relief. "BUT, I'll do it on my terms."

"What terms?" says the executive.

"I want complete control of all the contracts."

"Consider it done." The man snaps his fingers to illustrate the point.

"I want to choose the set list."

"Why Mike? I thought we always did that as a family." Mopes Tito.

"Trust me Tito, I know what I'm doing." Michael pauses for a moment to think. "The stage, I want to design the stage."

"I think we can live with that," says the executive. "Anything else?"

"I want a block of tickets set aside for each concert so underprivileged kids can come see the show." He pauses, "and make them good seats too, not just the nosebleeds."

"Is that all?" the exec gives him a funny look for all the demands.

"If I think of anything else, my people will talk to your people." Mike stands up, getting ready to leave.

"What about the contract?" asks Marlon, "You gotta sign it."

"I'll take this to my lawyer and have him look it over. I'm not signing anything until I do. If you guys were smart you'd do the same." He swipes the contract, turns on his heel and strides out of the building and into his awaiting car, Frank following closely behind.

"Want me to call Branca?" Frank asks as the car pulls away.

Mike nods, "have him meet me at the house."

_Back at school…_

Mar takes her smooshed PB&J sandwich out of a crumpled brown paper bag. She watched in envy as the other students chow down on cheeseburgers and French fries. She can't even remember the last time she ate a school lunch. She sighs as starts eating her sandwich alone. She's sitting at the end of the table but her half of the table is vacant, no one will even come near. She still can't figure out why this is, she just lives with it.

After her sandwich is gone, she pulls out her writing journal and lets her imagination take her away from this place. She's completely in a zone until the book is snatched from her hands. It was that gargantuan ginger again.

"What's this? Your diary?" his nasally screeches on the word 'diary', it makes Mar cringe.

"Give that back!" She kicks him in the shin, repeatedly, as hard as she can. When that doesn't work, she moves higher. One well placed kick and the moron is rolling on the floor. She picks up her journal and is about to stalk of triumphantly when a teacher grabs her by the arm.

"Marissa Larman, what have you done?" The teacher points to the boy on the floor, grabbing his crotch and moaning dramatically.

"But he—"

"No excuses, I'm taking you to the principal's office." The teacher tugs on her arm. "You too young man." She drags him to his feet and escorts them both to the principal's office.

The principal sees them one by one. The idiot ginger gives a big sobs story about how he was just minding his own business and all of a sudden she just came up and beat him for no reason. How he was so innocent. How she's a monster and should be expelled. All this complete with fake sobbing. She could hear the whole conversation from the other side of the door. The moron makes a face and sticks his tongue out as he strolls out of the office and back to lunch. The principal beckons her in.

"Sit." He says, motioning to a chair in front of his desk. "So tell me why you beat up that poor young boy."

"Sir, respectfully, he took my writing journal. I was just trying to get it back." She explains.

"Oh really? He gave me quite a different story."

"He wouldn't give it back sir, I needed it and he took it."

"That's hardly a reason to act like you did. Did you try asking nicely?"

"Yes but-" he cuts her off with a gesture.

"No 'but's' young lady. Maybe it would be best to call your father in here…" he reaches for the phone.

"NO!" she yells. "No, sir, anything but that." She pleads, "I'll do anything if you don't call him. Please. Don't call."

He puts the phone back. "Fine, but I'm watching you young lady. Be nice to your fellow classmates. One more slip up and I'm calling your father and you'll be expelled, do you hear me?"

"Yes sir." She replies.

"And as punishment, you are to stay after lunch all this week and pick up all the trash in the cafeteria. Also, you have to write a sincere apology letter to that boy and bring it to me by the end of the week. Got it?"

"Yes sir." She nods. Tears are welling up in her eyes. She takes deep breath, trying to convince her brain not to make her cry right now.

"Now get out of my office. Here's you pass back to class." He hands her a slip of paper and points her towards the door.

_At Neverland… _

John is waiting for them in the living room by the time they get there. Mike hands John the contract and he immediately begins to look it over.

"So you're going on tour again?" he asks.

"Yes but I need you to make this contract work in my favor. I want certain stipulations in there." Michael tells him. "I want creative control of this or I'm not leaving." He asserts.

"You mind if I take this home with me, I need the time to look though it more thoroughly." John asks, his eyes never leaving the page. "I'm confident we can make this work to your benefit though."

"Alright then, call me if you have any questions." Mike smiles and they shake hands before parting.

_A few days later…_

Michael hold Mar's letter in his hand. He stares at it for a moment before opening it. He giggles at some of her comments, but is horrified at the thought of her school being the way it is. It reminded him of the brief time he went to school in Gary, the schools were the same way out there. He starts writing her another letter.

Dear Mar,

Glad to hear you are at least trying to hold yourself together. Can't exactly say the same for myself right now. I'm going back on tour again, I guess. My brothers wouldn't let me be for a single second until I agreed. Not really looking forward to it, I despise touring. Nothing's totally official yet, we're still in negations yet. I'm only agreeing if they let me do this my way.

To answer your question, yes I have a bunch of other rides: I have a carousel, a giant slide, a pirate ship swing, a spinning swing ride… there's more rides then I can count, I love it! The best part, I even have a train that goes all around the property, all 2,600 acres of it.

Your dancing comment made me laugh. Maybe one day if we actually meet, I can teach you. I'd be happy to. Dancing is just like any other skill you want to learn, it takes lots of practice. Trust me on that one; I've done my fair share of practicing.

Sorry to hear your school is so bad. When I was still in school back in Gary it was the exact same way there, kids would bring guns and knives to school and teachers wouldn't even bat an eye, it was so crazy. So I know what all that's like. Just try to keep your nose out of trouble and you'll be okay I just know it.

When I start going on tour I'll send you a different address to reach me at, that way your letters will get forwarded to me instead of piling up here at Neverland. It won't be for a few months yet so don't worry too much about it now.

So what animal do you think I should get next for my zoo? I just got two llamas last week; my favorite one is named Louis. I'm thinking of getting a giraffe or two. What do you think?

Well, I love you infinity x2,

Michael Jackson


End file.
